Wizards Who Meddle With Time
by Paimpont
Summary: Three years after Voldemort's death, a depressed Harry is still obsessed with Tom Riddle. But neither death nor time can stand in Hermione's way when she wants to help. She drags Ron back to 1943 to kidnap an unsuspecting 17 year old Tom and bring him to Harry in the future. HP/TR slash. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**~Wizards Who Meddle With Time~**

**...**

**Summary: **Three years after Voldemort's death, a depressed Harry is still obsessed with Tom Riddle. But neither death nor time can stand in Hermione's way when she wants to help. She drags Ron back to 1943 to kidnap an unsuspecting 17 year old Tom and bring him to Harry in the future. HP/TR slash. Two-shot.

**Rating: M **for **slash** (same-sex relationship) between Harry and Tom Riddle. If that's not the sort of story you want to read, please grab your time turner and go back in time to _before_ you clicked on this story.

**Author's Note:** This story is written for **Gamma Orionis' Boot Camp Challenge **(prompt: "fascinated"), and **Silver Owl Malfoy's Roses&Confessions Challenge **(Harry/Tom pairing, prompts "Chamber of Secrets" and "wand case")

This will be the last thing I post for about a month, since I will be traveling to enchanted and unplottable places without Internet access. I will be writing, though, so expect updates to all my stories (including the last half of this one) when I get back.

**Warning: **Somewhat far-fetched plot and headache-inducing time paradoxes up ahead. Hey, it's summer!

...

The assassins were swift and soundless. Tom didn't have time to react before two _Immobilus_ spells hit him squarely in the back. He felt his body freeze, and he fell helplessly down onto the flagged stone floor with a thud. A sharp jolt of pain seared through him, and dark red blood pooled on the floor near his face. He had a horrible feeling it must have come from his broken nose. Behind him, someone cast a silencing spell on him, just for good measure. Not that there were many people around to hear him cry for help at this hour of the night anyway.

A small boot kicked him roughly over onto his back, and his two assassins peered down into his face.

_Stupefy, _thought Tom, still dazed, and looked up at the two blurry faces above him. He had been practicing wordless and wandless spells for a while now, and he was getting pretty good at them. But to his surprise, he felt his wordless spell stall and hover; it semed to have hit an invisible obstacle of sorts.

One of the dark-clad assassins laughed, a surprisingly feminine laugh. "Oh, please, Tom! We are not schoolchildren. We know how to block wordless spells, so you can save yourself the trouble. _Levicorpus!"_

To his alarm, Tom suddenly found himself floating upside-down in the air, drifting in front of the two assassins, who proceeded rapidly down one of the torchlit passages. Tom tried desperately to think. What in Merlin's name was happening to him? The two assassins appeared to know the layout of the school perfectly, for there was no hesitation in their steps. Who _were _they? And what did they want with him? This was clearly no ordinary school prank, since these were powerful wizards with skills far beyond even Tom's. What sort of spell _was_ this they had used on him? Levicorpus? He had never heard of that spell before.

"Someone's coming!" hissed the taller of the two assassins. Tom could see him out of the corner of his eye from his strange upside-down position; he caught a fleeting glimpse of a pale, grim face and red hair.

"Use the cloak," said the female assassin calmly, and Tom felt something feather-light descend over him. An invisibility cloak? In spite of himself, Tom was impressed; these assassins were _good. _

But what in Salazar's name did they want with him?

For perhaps the first time in his life, Tom was relieved to see Horace Slughorn's corpulent form rounding the corner.

"Hello?" whispered the potions master, holding up a lantern and gazing around. "Who is walking around the castle at this hour? Good evening, ma'am. May I ask what you are-"

The female assassin - who appeared to be the more powerful wizard of the two - hit him rapidly with a well-cast _Confundus _spell, and Slughorn just stood there with his mouth half-open, looking oddly lost, and blinked slowly while Tom and his two assassins disappeared around the corner.

They were heading up the winding staircases towards the seventh floor now. Tom hoped desperately that his attackers would trip over the trick steps or be confunded by the moving staircases, but the two of them leaped easily over the gaping chasms that opened before them in the stairwell without even looking down. They appeared to know Hogwarts like the back of their own hands. By Salazar, these were professionals! Tom's mind was hovering between fear, curiosity, and admiration.

Halfway up the last flight of stairs, they encountered the insubstantial figure of the eccentric Gryffindor house ghost, but to Tom's great dismay, Sir Nicholas didn't rush to alert the headmaster that one of the seventh year students was being kidnapped; he merely stared at the three of them for a long moment while an expression of wonder passed over his insubstantial features. Tom groaned inwardly. He knew that the Gryffindor ghost didn't exactly care for him, but he was certain that the spectre could see his rigid form perfectly well, even through the invisibility cloak. Wasn't he going to come to Tom's aid at all?

"Hello, Sir Nicholas!" said the female assassin brightly. "What a pleasure to see you."

"Likewise, my dear," said the Gryffindor ghost and gave a gallant, ephemeral bow. "What a lovely surprise, seeing the two of you _here. _I was wondering when someone would have the good sense to travel back and set things right. I should have guessed that it would be you, of course. You _are_ the cleverest student Hogwarts has ever had. Even cleverer than Tom, I see! Best of luck to you both!" And the spectral nobleman drifted off, humming softly to himself.

"Wait... what?" The red-haired assassin paused and stared after the vanishing ghost. "How does Nearly Headless Nick know who we are? He hasn't even met us yet! This.. is not possible, is it?"

"Of course it is." The female assassin sounded unperturbed. "Ghosts exist outside of time altogether; they can see both the future and the past. So of course Nearly Headless Nick recognized us. Ghosts are, however, unable to speak of what they know of the future to the living. It's one of the ancient Laws of their existence."

The red-haired assassin gave a low whistle. "You really _do_ know everyting, don't you, honey? I _really_ hope the baby takes after you, rather than me."

Baby? What baby? Tom was growing more and more puzzled now.

"Be quiet," said the woman softly. "We are almost there." Tom felt himself floating up the remaining stairs to the seventh floor and down a corridor. They paused outside a particularly bizarre and tasteless tapestry depicting dancing trolls.

"I'll open it," said the red-haired assassin in a whisper.

_What in Salazar's name?_ They even knew about the Hidden Room? Tom had only discovered it himself a few months ago, this enchanted room that could turn into whatever he wanted, and had been so certain that he was the only one who knew of its existence. But apparently, he had been wrong; his two attackers appeared to know precisely where it was and what it was. And it seemed that the male assassin was no novice wizard either, for he managed to open the portal on his first attempt. It had taken Tom weeks to be able to do it consistently.

The female assassin's spell flung Tom into the room, and she and her companion stepped in after him and closed the portal. Then the woman yanked the invisibility cloak off her captive, fished his wand out of his pocket, and cast a quick _Incarcerous_ spell on him, followed by an _Ennervate. _

_Ooof!_ For the second time that night, Tom fell to the floor with a crash. He cursed silently, struggled hopelessly against the tight ropes that had wound themselves around him now, and glanced quickly up at his assassins. There had to be _some_ way of outwitting them.

"Forget it, Tom." The female assassin stepped into his field of vision, and he could see that she was quite young, perhaps no more than twenty. There was a small but noticable bump on her stomach, in spite of her slender figure. A _pregnant _assassin? The very idea struck Tom as absurd. But judging by the firm set of her mouth, she was not a young witch to mess with. "You can't run away from us, Tom," she said coldly, "and you can't outsmart us. You will sit right _here..._" She shoved him into a nearby armchair, "and listen to our proposal." She cast a quick spell on him, allowing him to speak again.

"A... a proposal_?"_ Tom blinked slowly. These two assassins had a _proposal_ for him? All right, he was intrigued. He liked power, and this witch was far more powerful than anyone he had met so far in the wizarding world. He would listen to what she had to say before attempting to outwit her, just in case it turned out to be something interesting. He nodded briefly.

"All right." The young witch sat down opposite him, her wand still pointed straight at his chest. His own yew wand was nowhere in sight. "Are you familiar with time turners, Tom?"

"Time turners?" Tom wished he could wipe off the blood that was trickling from his nose. "I have heard rumors of them, yes, but I don't know if they actually exist, or if they are just fantasy."

The red-haired man smiled grimly. "Oh, they exist, Tom. We have one." He pulled something small and golden out of the pocket of his robes, and Tom leaned forward in fascination. A time turner? A device to allow you to travel through time? Oh, Merlin, the possibilities! Surely, a wizard who possessed power over time itself could become the most powerful man in existence! Yes, Tom was definitely interested now.

"Time turners were invented about five years ago, in 1938," said the young witch. "But the Ministry of Magic has kept their existence a secret, since they feared that they could cause great harm in the wrong hands."

"How far... how far can you travel in time with one of these?" Tom glanced at the delicate clockwork with interest. Oh, yes, he would make _sure _this wondrous little mechanism would fall into the wrong hands as soon as possible!

"Normally only a few hours," said the red-haired man. "One of your fellow students has one, actually, and she has been using it to turn back time just enough to allow her to study twice as much as anyone else."

Tom stared at him for a moment, baffled. A Hogwarts student possessed an instrument that could potentially make her into the most powerful witch in the world? But that was impossible! Surely, he would have known about that. Well, unless... Tom groaned. "Seriously? _Minerva?_ You don't mean that she has a time turner? Well, _that_ explains a lot! I was wondering why she suddenly began to score better than me on all the tests. It's been terribly annoying, actually." He shook his head, and a small laugh escaped him. "Trust Minerva to use this magnificent device for something as absurd and mundane as _that_! She has a _time turner, _and she uses it for _class work?_"

The female assassin suddenly looked very annoyed. "Excuse me? There is absolutely nothing absurd about... Oh, never mind. Let's not go there. The point, Tom, is that time turners do exist. And whereas it is generally believed that time turners only allow you to travel backwards or forwards in time a few hours at a time, it turns out that this is not quite correct. After some tinkering, I was recently able to build a modified version with a far greater range. It involved some powerful magic, half of it strictly speaking illegal, but..."

"She _is _the cleverest person there ever was, you see." The red-haired man beamed. "Which is why _we_ were able to travel more than fifty years back in time."

Tom blinked rapidly. "More than... You are from the _future_?" All right, he was _very _impressed.

"That's right," said the woman calmly. "We are wizards from the year 2000, and we have come here to bring you back with us. To the future."

Tom stared at her. Was he dreaming? "Bring me _back_ with you? To the future? But why?"

The young woman sighed. "It's a very long story, Tom. And it involves you. We know that you have already committed two murders - ah, you are looking pale now, Tom! - and that you have created two horcruxes in order to ensure your own immortality."

"You... know...? I really don't know what you are talking about..." Tom's voice faltered. They knew about the murders? _And _the horcruxes? This was definitely not good. Unless they wanted him to help _them_ make horcruxes?

"After this," continued the witch calmly, "you will go on to become a powerful dark wizard. You will gather followers, and you will commit horriible murders and acts of violence. You will create more and more horcruxes, until your soul is so fragmented that you will lose your very humanity. You will become a monster. You will no longer call yourself "Tom Riddle", but "Voldemort", and your followers will call you "The Dark Lord." But in the end, fifty years from now, you will be defeated by a young wizard, a mere boy. He will destroy all your horcruxes, one by one. You will try to kill him, but he will live. What you won't know is that part of your shattered soul took refuge in the boy; without meaning to, you made _him_ your living horcrux. And in the end, when you fire the killing curse at him, you will not kill him, but the shard of your own soul that lived in him. _You _will die, and he will live. And that is how your story ends, Tom, fifty years into the future. With a miserable, pitiful death, and a humiliating defeat."

"Why... Why are you telling me this?" Tom's voice didn't seem to be working properly. This couldn't be true... could it? But he knew in his heart that it _was_ true, every word of it. Of course he would have followers. Of course he would make more horcruxes. To become so powerful, only to lose it all and die at the hands of a _boy!_

The woman looked right at him now, and it felt as if her brown eyes were staring into his very soul. "We are telling you this," she said softly, "because, absurd as it may seem, the boy who defeated you still grieves over you."

"He _grieves _over me?" Tom stared at her. "Why?"

The red-haired wizard sighed. "Beats me. But the point is that he does. He can't stop thinking about you, apparently. He seemed to be doing so well at first, after you died. He got a job at the Ministry, and he got engaged to my sister, and everything seemed to be going perfectly well. And then... Well, then he began falling apart. He couldn't sleep, didn't eat properly... It took a long time before he would tell anyone what was wrong, but finally he admitted to us, right after he broke off his engangement, that he couldn't stop thinking about you. I guess it has something to do with all those years you shared a soul without anyone knowing about it. He cried and cried, and he said something was terribly wrong with him and that he didn't deserve to live. And then he told us that he had realized that he had actually been sort of in _love _with you all along, and that it hadn't even stopped when you died."

The young witch swallowed. "He loves you, Tom," she whispered. "Even if, Merlin knows, you don't deserve it. And that is why we have come here, to offer you a second chance. Come with us right now, to the future, and make him happy."

"What?" Tom felt dizzy. "But this... This is insane... You want me to go and find this boy who defeated me, this strange soulmate, and... and what? Be his friend?"

"His friend. And maybe his lover." She blushed a little. "It's an absurd idea, I know, but I don't know how else to save Harry from this terrible grief that has taken hold of him."

Tom felt himself flush. "His lover? But he is a _boy! _I would never indulge in... unnatural things like... like that."

"Yes, you would." The witch didn't even hesitate. "Perhaps you don't realize that I know everything about you, Tom. I have researched every detail of your miserable life before I traveled back here to find you. I know about your disastrous dates with Walburga Black. I know about your little _experiments_ with Abraxas Malfoy, and I know that you were caught peeking at Lestrange in the shower. More than once."

Tom's cheeks were burning now. He _really _didn't think that anyone would ever find out about that... "How on earth did you know about-"

She shrugged. "Abraxas Malfoy's portrait was_ quite_ informative. He gave me more details than I ever wanted to hear, quite frankly. You _are _attracted to men, even if you don't want to admit it, Tom." A sudden smile passed over her face. "And Harry really _is_ quite adorable."

Tom sank back in his chair. "Harry? That's his name, is it? This boy from the future who will become my horcrux?" What an odd thought - a human horcrux! A part of his soul, embedded in this young powerful wizard... Tom had already, at the age of seventeen, resigned himself to remaining alone for the rest of his life. True, his experiments with Malfoy had been physically satisfying, but he knew that he would never find someone here at Hogwarts, and perhaps not even in the larger wizardig world, that he would want as a companion_,_ for more than a few hours at a time. There was simply no one who was his equal. Tom would occasionally fantasize about meeting someone who would be a true friend and companion, someone both alluring and powerful... And yes, he had had occasional wet dreams about Salazar himself, but no magic that Tom knew of could bring the great founder back from the dead. But this boy from another age, with magic strong enough to defeat _him... _A Salazar from the future, who still yearned for Tom... It would be worth traveling with these two wizards, just to see what he was like.

Tom though for a moment. "But what would happen, if I were to come with you to the future? What would happen to time itself? If I were to leave the year 1943 and arrive in the year 2000, what would happen to the time in between? Would all the actions I would have taken between 1943 and 2000 cease to exist?"

The two assassins were silent for a long moment. Then the woman said: "I don't think so, Tom. I can't be quite certain, of course, since this is the first time, to the best of my knowledge, that someone has done anything like this. But I believe that what we are about to do - to carry you into the future - would simply create two different Toms. One would stay here and become Voldemort, and the other will come with us and remain Tom."

The red-haired assassin glanced at Tom. He seemed to shudder a little. "Of course it would be a _lot_ simpler just to kill you right now. A swift _Avada _curse at this moment would put an end to Tom Riddle and undo all your vile acts of murder and torture in the future. If I were to murder you right now, it will be as if the Dark Lord Voldemort never even existed. Perhaps it would even bring back my brother, who died fighting one of your followers."

Tom swallowed, hard. He glanced at the trembling wand in the wizard's hand. "Then... Then why don't you kill me? I don't understand..."

The red-haired man sighed. "Oh, trust me. Normally, I would, without a moment's hesitation. But... Well, it's a funny thing, changing history, even for the better. A while after my brother Fred died, his girlfriend began going out with my other brother George. And then they got married, and now they have this little boy called Fred. He's the most adorable thing you ever saw, and everyone is crazy about him. I'm completely nuts about the little fellow myself. I'm his uncle, you know, and he calls me "Won", which isn't nearly as annoying when _he _says it as when... Oh, never mind. And the thing is, much as I want my brother Fred back, I can't help thinking that if Fred were back, Angelina would have married him instead of George, and there wouldn't _be_ a Little Fred. No one would even remember the little tyke, with his wild black curls and blue eyes. And..." The wizard sighed deeply. "I just can't _do_ that. Make Little Fred not exist, I mean. Even to bring my brother back. I know, I know: my brother Fred and Angelina could get married and have another baby instead, but it's not the same. _Their _kid is just hypothetical, but Little Fred is real, and he is my nephew, and he laughs so hard when I give him piggy-back rides..." He glanced moodily at Tom. "So I guess I'm going to let you live, just for Little Fred. It's funny, now that I am about to become a father myself, I seem to care more about the future than about the past, all of a sudden. And who knows, if you died before becoming Voldemort, maybe Harry would have been so different that he never became friends with Hermione and me. And if it hadn't been for Harry and the friendship between the three of us, maybe I would never have fallen in love with Hermione. And our baby won't ever be born. And that is... simply unacceptable. I don't want to mess with any of that. Ever."

The young woman smiled ever so slightly. "Enough talking, Ron. What do you say, Tom? How about... one dinner with Harry in the future? A date of sorts, just for the two of you? Just to see how it goes? His birthday is coming up, and this would make a lovely present, wouldn't it?"

"He'll be surprised, all right," muttered the red-haired man.

Tom pretended to think about it. "I suppose I can have one dinner with him. Old Slughorn gave me a silver wand case a while back - perhaps I can give it to this boy from the future for his birthday." He actually did want to meet this boy. And if their encounter didn't work out well, he could always grab a wand, kill his future killer, and begin a new life in the year 2000. He couldn't believe the young witch hadn't thought of _that. _

The witch nodded. "All right then. The year 2000 it is. _After _you complete a series of Unbreakable Vows, of course, Tom." She smiled sweetly at him. "Just for Harry's safety, and that of the Wizarding World... We weren't born yesterday, you know."


	2. Chapter 2

**~Wizards Who Meddle With Time~**

**Part 2**

**...**

**Summary: **Three years after Voldemort's death, a depressed Harry is still obsessed with Tom Riddle. But neither death nor time can stand in Hermione's way when she wants to help. She drags Ron back to 1943 to kidnap an unsuspecting 17 year old Tom and bring him to Harry in the future. HP/TR slash. Two-shot.

**Rating: M **for **slash** (same-sex relationship) between Harry and Tom Riddle.

**Author's Note: **Yes, of course I had to post the final part of this story on Harry's birthday. Happy birthday, Harry!

...

"Happy birthday, Harry!" The voice that intruded on Harry's anguished sleep sounded unnaturally bright and cheerful.

Harry groaned and buried his head in his pillow. "Go away, Hermione. I'm sleeping."

"Time to wake up, mate! We've got a surprise for you!"

Harry opened his eyes slowly. "Ron? She dragged you over here, too?" He regarded his two friends with suspicion. "And you broke into my flat at... what, 7 a.m., because-?"

"It's five in the afternoon, Harry." Hermione beamed at him. "And it's your birthday. We've come to take you out for a little birthday surprise."

Harry stuck his head back under his pillow. "A birthday surprise? Look, I really appreciate it, but I'm not in the mood to celebrate. I think I'll just go back to sleep for a while."

But Hermione yanked his covers off. "Get dressed, Harry. You'll want to see _this _surprise, I promise you."

"Come on, Harry." Ron dragged him to his feet. "There is no point in arguing with Hermione, you know that."

Harry blinked sleepily. "Aren't pregnant women supposed to need rest? Shouldn't she be home taking a nap?"

Hermione just snorted and threw his clothes at him.

"Listen, Harry." Ron leaned closer and lowered his voice. "The day before I married Hermione, my dad pulled me aside and said: "Son, now that you are about to become a married man, I feel that there is something I should tell you about women." I groaned and told him that I had known about those things since I was ten, but he just grinned and said: "Not _those_ things, son. Kids your age probably know more about _that _than I ever will. No, Ron, what I have to tell you is something you _don't_ know, something I wish I had known myself when I first entered the blessed state of matrimony. There is one thing that I have learned from bitter experience, and I wish to Merlin that some wise older man had thought to tell me this before I married your mother: Whatever you do, don't _ever_ argue with a pregnant woman. If she wants you to sort the spices in alphabetical order, you'd better start putting "basil" before "borage". If she wants you to paint a room purple, you paint it whatever hellish shade of purple she has her heart set on. And if she craves dragon sausage for dinner, then, by Merlin, you head to Knockturn Alley and get that dragon sausage. That's all." And you know what, Harry? My dad lived through six of my mum's pregnancies, one of them involving Fred and George. He knows what he's talking about. So _don't_ argue with Hermione, and put your clothes on."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Dragon sausage? Really?"

Ron nodded. "Really. I suspect that must have been when my mum was expecting Charlie. The point is, Harry, Hermione has her heart set on this birthday surprise for you. And as her husband, I'm telling you that you would be _very_ wise not to argue with her. So get dressed and come with us."

Harry reached for his clothes.

...

Half an hour later, Harry glanced around the familiar Hogwarts bathroom in astonishment. "What in Merlin's name-? You are taking me _here?"_

"That's right, mate." Ron turned and addressed one of the serpent-shaped silver taps in heavily accented Parseltongue: _*Open!*_

Harry followed Ron and Hermione hesitantly into the passage that led to the Chamber of Secrets. He felt something stirring in his heart as he stepped into the familiar damp chamber. This is where is had first seen Tom, all those years ago... The thought felt both painful and strangely sweet at the same time. Why on earth were they taking him _here_?

A moment later, Harry realized exactly why his two best friends had brought him to the Chamber of Secrets. For the torches that flickered in the wall sconces cast their warm light over a table set for two, and a young man with dark curls and silver-grey eyes was sitting in one of the two chairs. He met Harry's glance with a long, grave stare, then rose to his feet and greeted Harry with a slight bow.

Harry sighed deeply and turned to Hermione. "Listen, Hermione, I truly appreciate you going to all this trouble, but it's not going to work."

"What's not going to work?" There was a slight smile in Hermione's voice.

"This. _Him_." Harry indicated the silver-eyed boy with a nod of his head. "I mean, you did a great job of making him look like Tom Riddle and all. Very impressive magic. A sort of glamour, was it? But it's still not _him_, Hermione. I know you want me to be able to pretend I'm with Tom for a few hours, and that's the sweetest thing anyone has even done for me, but I just _can't_. It's just a fantasy, and I know it's not real. I would be just as lonely again after it was over."

"It's not a fantasy, Harry," said Hermione softly. "This really is Tom Riddle. I modified a time turner, traveled back to 1943 with Ron, and brought him here."

Harry smiled. "Of course you did, Hermione. And as I said, I appreciate it, but..."

The silver-eyed boy rose to his feet now, and he walked slowly towards Harry.

Harry couldn't help staring at him. All right, Hermione was _very_ good. If Harry didn't know better, he could have sworn that this was Tom Riddle himself standing in front of him, with his dark curls and mesmerizing quicksilver eyes. This fantasy was almost too good to pass up, and Hermione _had_ gone to a great deal of trouble after all...

"All right," Harry whispered. "I'll play. For just a little while..."

Hermione smiled. "I thought so. Bye, Harry. Bye, Tom. Ron and I will be off, then. Enjoy your dinner." She exited the Chamber quickly, dragging Ron along with her.

The heavy stone door clanked shut behind them, and Harry was alone with the silver-eyed boy.

The boy was a magnificent actor. He walked slowly up to Harry, stroked the hair back from his forehead with a pale hand, and whispered: "Your scar. That's the scar she told me about. That's where my soul entered you, and we became one." The luminous silver eyes gazed into Harry's own. "Tell me what it felt like. Tell me what it was like to have my soul inside you."

Harry felt himself smiling. This was exactly the sort of thing Tom Riddle would say in his fantasies. How easy it was going to be, pretending that this unknown boy was Tom!

"Sometimes it felt painful," Harry whispered. "When you were angry. Other times... It just felt as if I was never entirely alone." He swallowed. It had taken a few months after the final battle, but then a curious feeling of emptiness had set in, a sense of being utterly, completely alone for the first time in his life.

The boy studied Harry's face with his bright silver gaze. "I wish I could remember," he said in a low voice. "I wish I could remember being so strangely one with another human being. With you. My horcrux."

He reached out and brushed a finger lightly over Harry's cheek. The touch sent a strange, pleasurable shiver down Harry's spine. Without thinking, Harry did what he had dreamt of doing so often: He leaned forward and kissed Tom Riddle softly on the mouth.

The best part was that the boy stayed in character even then. He didn't kiss Harry back immediately, as a lesser actor would have done; he just stod there for a long moment, and then he raised his hand and touched his lips in wonder, right where Harry's mouth had been a moment before. Then he whispered: "You kiss like Salazar." He met Harry's gaze and added quickly, a slight flush spreading over his cheeks: "I used to dream about him, sometimes."

Harry drew his breath sharply. "Yes, somehow I can imagine you doing that."

The boy traced Harry's face with a trembling finger. Then he bent forward and captured Harry's lips in a fiery kiss.

The kiss took Harry's breath away. It was better than the hundreds of imaginary kisses that he had shared with Tom Riddle. Merlin, where had Hermione found this boy?

The boy pulled back. "Harry. Your friends told me your name is Harry."

Harry simply nodded, unable to speak. The sound of his name on Tom's lips, spoken so softly, sent a shiver through him.

The boy looked gravely at him. "They tell me it's your birthday, Harry. I've brought a birthday present for you. Here." He produced a slim silver box, embellished with serpents, and presented it to Harry with a slight bow.

"A wand case?" Harry accepted the case with a smile. "Thank you." Hermione had really thought of everything to make this day perfect. In fact, it was rather tempting to see exactly how far she had gone in preparing for this surprise. Harry thought for a moment. "Do you have your wand with you?" he asked the boy casually.

In response, the boy pulled a perfect replica of Voldemort's wand from the pocket of his robe. Yes, Hermione had thought of every smallest detail. Well, perhaps not quite everything... Even Hermione couldn't make this boy into Voldemort, could she? Harry studied the boy's achingly familiar face for a moment. "Can you do something for me, Tom? Can you show me one of the forbidden curses? Cast an Imperius curse on me, will you? Just to prove to me who you really are?"

The boy shook his head ruefully. "I wish I could, Harry, but your friend made me swear an unbreakable oath - several oaths, in fact - before she brought me here to the future. I am unable to cast any forbidden curses at the moment. It seems that your friend does not altogether trust me."

Harry smiled. What a clever answer! Hermione had instructed him well. This fantasy was perfect. Harry kissed the boy on the lips again, and the boy kissed him quickly back and muttered into the kiss: "You kiss way better than Malfoy."

"_What_?" Harry stared at him. _Malfoy_? He had assumed that Hermione had hired a stranger, some very discreet and not entirely straight actor to play the part of Tom Riddle, not someone he knew. And _definitely_ not someone who had ever kissed Malfoy! Oh, Merlin! If this turned out to be Blaise Zabini under a glamour, Hermione had a lot to answer for. _Pleasepleaseplease_, _don't be Blaise!_

But to Harry's great relief, the boy muttered: "Abraxas Malfoy. Just someone I went to school with."

Harry smiled. Of course. Not Draco. _Abraxas_ Malfoy. Yes, that was the name of Draco's grandfather, wasn't it? And yes, he probably would have gone to Hogwarts around the same time as Tom Riddle. Of course Hermione would have known that. Hermione had probably trained this boy for a month before bringing him here to the Chamber of Secrets, making sure he knew the names of everyone Tom Riddle had ever known from birth onwards.

"Come." The boy took Harry's hand and led him over to the table where an exquisite meal for two was set out. "Let's eat, and you can tell me everything about yourself, and about our encounters in the future. I mean, in the past."

Harry enjoyed their dinnertime conversation a great deal. The boy stayed perfectly in character as Harry told him the entire story of his life, and of the rise and fall of Lord Voldemort. The boy asked many questions, and he seemed to want to know every little detail of each of Harry's encounters with Voldemort.

Hours later, when Harry had told him everything, the boy leaned back in his chair and regarded Harry with his quicksilver eyes. "What a wasted life!" he said with a slight tremor in his voice. "To have had so much power, and to have thrown it all away on a quest for immortality that ended in death!"

Harry glanced at him in surprise. Somehow, he had not expected Tom Riddle to say _that_. But that was the best part of this fantasy encounter - the boy was so good at improvising that Harry had to keep reminding himself that this was _not_ the real Tom Riddle.

"And to think," muttered the boy, as if to himself, "that I had a soulmate all along, a human horcrux who shared my soul! But I, in my abysmal ignorance, spent years trying to kill you." There was a curious expression in his quicksilver eyes now. "Just imagine, Harry, what we could have been to each other, if only I had known what you were! We were mortal enemies when we should have been friends, companions, lovers..." The last word lingered in the air for a long moment.

Then the boy whispered: "I wish you were still my horcrux, Harry." He reached across the table and brushed his finger over Harry's scar. "But there is still a lingering magic between us, I can feel it even now when the horcrux is gone. Can you feel it, too?"

Harry swallowed, struggling to find his voice. "Yes," he muttered finally. "Yes, I can definitely feel it, Tom."

The boy got up, walked over to Harry and pulled him to his feet. The next moment, Harry felt himself swept up in a tight embrace, and a voice breathed in his ear: "She said you are in love with me... Are you?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes, I'm in love with you, Tom." He could feel the thunder of the boy's heartbeat against his chest now, and a soft mouth that lingered against his own. They kissed, deeply, again and again, until it seemed to Harry that there was no other reality beyond this touch of Tom's lips against his own.

The boy pulled back and whispered: "I want to make love to you, Harry. Will you let me?"

_Yes, yes, yes! _agreed Harry's body at once, but a slight voice in the back of his head protested: _Remember, this is just a game... He is not really Tom._

But then the boy kissed him again, and the feeble voice of reason in Harry's head stopped speaking altogether. A hesitant tongue slipped past Harry's parted lips, and warm hands searched for his skin under his clothes.

Harry had a vague notion he probably shouldn't be doing this, but it was impossible not to respond in kind when the boy did _that_...

They tore each other's clothes off in a frenzy, and then two of them sank down on the damp stone floor together, flinching a little as their bare skin touched the icy stone.

The boy muttered something under his breath, and the next moment, a soft velvety blanket appeared under them.

Harry stared at his companion. "You can do wandless spells? That's rather impressive."

The boy laughed. "You just told me the story of how I conquered the wizarding world with my magic - and you are impressed because I can conjure a blanket? I can do much more impressive magic than that. You will see, love." He left a trail of breathless kisses down Harry's throat.

"Tom!" The name tore itself from Harry's lips, and the boy's kisses traveled further down Harry's chest.

"I like it when you moan my name like that," muttered the boy against Harry's skin. He glanced up, and there was a slight glitter in the silver eyes now. "Let me hear you say the other name as well, the one you knew me by..." His hand moved to Harry's already rock-hard shaft, while the luminous eyes held Harry's gaze.

"V-Voldemort," whispered Harry. He was beginning to feel more than a little lightheaded.

The boy smiled and brushed his hand... oh, right _there..._ "That's not a bad name when you say it like that. I chose well."

Harry pulled the boy up so that their eyes were level with one another. He gazed into the face that looked so terribly, wonderfully like Tom Riddle's face, and something twisted painfully in his heart. Oh, if only this excruciatingly lovely boy could be Tom, the real Tom!

The boy kissed Harry quickly on the forehead. "What is it, Harry? Having second thoughts? It's my first time, too. Going all the way, I mean. But I think I know what to do."

Harry closed his eyes. "Tom? I need you to do something for me first. The name I spoke before, _his_ name. _Voldemort_. Let me hear _you_ say it. Say the name Voldemort, here in the Chamber of Secrets, where I first met his shadow."

He opened his eyes slowly and looked at the boy. This was the one test not even the best actor would pass. Harry knew what he was about to see in the boy's face, that slight flicker of suppressed terror. Even the best trained actor in the wizarding world would not be able to speak that dreaded name without fear, even now.

But the boy merely raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You want me to say Voldemort? All right, whatever turns you on, love. _Voldemort_." He spoke as lightly as if he were speaking of the weather.

Harry sighed contentedly and wrapped his arms around the boy. This was good. This was a perfect, flawless fantasy. Perhaps Hermione had confunded the boy into thinking that he _was_ Tom? He wouldn't put it past her.

"Know any other wandless spells?" Harry whispered and brushed the boy's lips with his own. "I understand that we are going to need some oil or something for this..."

The boy kissed Harry fiercely. "Don't worry, I know a spell or two."

And he certainly did. They boy was a fantastic lover, both passionate and tender, and yet with a slight air of inexperience that kept him entirely in character the whole time. Yes, Harry could easily imagine that this was the young Tom Riddle himself, exploring every inch of his skin, caressing him, stroking him, entering him... They made love over and over, furiously, breathlessly, until they both sank down, sated and exhausted, on the green velvet blanket.

Harry buried his head against his lover's neck and breathed in the scent of his warm skin. If only this were real...

"What are you doing?" The boy sat up suddenly. "Something feels wet against my skin. Are you crying?"

"No," muttered Harry indistinctly.

"Yes, you are." The boy took Harry's face in both his hands. "Oh, Salazar. I hurt you, didn't I? Hold on, love, I will conjure a healing potion."

"No, it's nothing like that..." Harry refused to meet the boy's glance. "I will be a little sore tomorrow, but that part just feels... nice."

"Then what is it?" They boy kissed Harry gently on the lips. "Do you still think of me as your enemy? Was this not what you wanted after all?"

"It's everything I wanted," whispered Harry. "All of this. Except for one thing..."

"What?" There was a note of anxiousness in the boy's voice.

Harry stroked the boy's beautiful face. "You. You are so perfect, but I know that you can't be the real Tom Riddle, however much I want you to be..."

"You don't think I'm the real Tom Riddle?" The boy frowned. "Then what, pray, were you doing, making love to a mere impostor with such abandon? You are - all right, _were_ - my horcrux, and I do not care for the idea of you being with someone else, just because he happens to look like me. Wait, I think I am becoming jealous of myself. What a terribly strange feeling..."

Harry had to smile. "Look, you are truly amazing, staying in character even now. But I know that no magic on earth can bring Tom Riddle back from the dead."

"Back from the dead?" The boy shook his head slowly. "But I'm not dead. _He_ is dead. Voldemort, the man I could have become. But I'm right here with you. And if you don't mind, I would like to stay with you."

"Stay with me?" Harry whispered. "And do what?"

"And do _what_?" The boy stared at him. "Well, first of all, perhaps a little more of what we _were_ doing, if you feel up for it? And then, after that, I thought we could find a place to live. Perhaps an elegant modern flat? I am afraid your friends do not speak highly of your current one. Also, I will have to change my appearance a little and invent a new name and identity for myself. I can hardly go around calling myself "Tom Riddle", can I? What do you think of Thomas Black?"

Harry swallowed. "You... You really are Tom Riddle?" He wanted so desperately to believe it.

The boy nodded. "Of course I am. What, you don't think your pregnant friend capable of traveling back in time?"

Harry hesitated. "Well, she _is _very clever... Tell me quick, Tom. What year was it when Hermione and Ron came to get you?"

"1943."

"Then perhaps you remember which team won the British and Irish Quidditch league two years before that, in 1941? _That_ is one thing I don't think Hermione would ever bother researching. She has never been terribly interested in Quidditch."

"Well..." Tom thought for a moment. "I'm not a big Quidditch fan myself, but I'm pretty sure it was the Caerphilly Catapults. I remember hating their robes. Green and red? I don't think those colors go well together at all."

Harry smiled, and he could feel an unfamiliar sensation bubbling up in his heart. Joy? Yes, a perfect, warm, golden happiness... Tom Riddle. This was really Tom Riddle. He glanced down at the emerald green velvet blanket they were lying on and whispered: "If you are going to live with me, Tom, you are going to have to get used to a little red mixed in with the green decor."

Tom sighed. "But green matches your Slytherin eyes so perfectly... Oh, all right. If you insist."

Harry kissed him deeply. "I insist, Thomas Black. By the way, I have heard that there are a few positions vacant on the Hogwarts staff. Hermione told me I should apply, but I wasn't interested at the time. The flying teacher retired, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor received a job offer from Harvard he couldn't refuse. Perhaps you and I should consider applying?"

A slow grin spread over Tom's face. "Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts?" He nodded. "Yes, I think I would be _very_ good at that..."

_Fin_.


End file.
